


a warm place

by sidnihoudini



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-30
Updated: 2008-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you want to bang some girl, go ahead man, I'm not gonna cock block you," Dean tells him, passive aggressiveness written all over his expression and in his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a warm place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadwillwalk.livejournal.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deadwillwalk.livejournal.com).



"Look, I get that you're pissed," Sam tells him, in the corner of a shitty bar bathroom somewhere east of Michigan. He's wearing his no nonsense face and he's got the beer Dean threw at him all down the front of his jean jacket. Dean thinks that's too bad. "But you've got to chill out."

See, the thing is:

.

Dean is not a jealous man. Or, well. Dean is not a territorial kind of guy. Okay, Dean isn't a caveman. A keeper of anyone. A crazy psycho significant other who flies off the handle at the briefest mention of someone getting too close.

It's just. Dean is just.

When it comes down to it, you just didn't fuck with Sam. Or flirt with Sam. Or walk up to him in a bar and none too innocently run your hand down the fly of his jeans.

You just didn't do it.

.

So, Dean feels as though he's justified in his anger. Shit like that didn't happen, you just didn't walk into some hulk of a dude in the middle of a beer and steak bar in some po-dunk little town north of the next largest city and expect to bang him right up against the wobbly table.

"I can't believe you threw your beer at me," Sam muses, after Dean has agreed to calm down as long as they leave the bar and grab some beers at the closest gas station before going back to the motel.

Dean's a couple of paces ahead of him, still frowning, glancing around the mostly empty parking lot. You'd be surprised the kind of shit that jumps out of nowhere in little backyard cities like this, it's how he lost that chunk of skin to some stupid hob goblin.

"I didn't throw my beer at you," Dean grumbles over his shoulder, slowing down long enough for Sam to mostly catch up. "Some bitch knocked into my arm from behind and spilled it everywhere."

The look Sam levels him with is smarmy at best as he catches up shoulder to shoulder with Dean, still brushing his fingers over the damp spot over his chest. Dean glances down at it warily and then goes back to searching the parameters. That he can do without having to worry about anything. Except for the, you know. Monsters and shit.

"Alright," Sam finally tells him, even though it sounds like he's saying it just so Dean doesn't start another argument with him.

Dean likes that in Sam.

"So where are we going," Dean asks him, even though it actually doesn't sound like a question at all. It mostly sounds like he's made the decision and is now giving Sam the benefit of the doubt of answering with the right idea before telling him exactly how shit is about to go down.

It makes Sam smile when he thinks about bitchy, needy Dean, who still holds onto his superiority complex after all these years.

"Beer, motel," Sam tells him, wrinkling his forehead. "I thought that was decided."

Dean jerks a nod, and Sam frowns, starting to wonder if shit is actually running deeper than some googly eyed girl hitting on him back at that bar.

.

Sam waits in the car while Dean goes in for the beer and whatever else he always inevitably ends up buying. He checks the messages on his phone and taps his fingers against the arm rest on the door, face cracking into a yawn just as Dean comes back through the double glass doors.

"Ready?" He asks, as Dean is sliding back into the driver's seat, reaching across to deposit the plastic bag on the seat between them.

Nodding, Dean sticks his keys back in the ignition and turns the engine over, reaching over to dig through his plastic bag as the car rumbles beneath them.

He sticks a thing of beef jerky between his teeth as he reaches back for his seat belt, buckling up before he throws it into reverse and they drive away.

.

"Dean," Sam finally says, when they're two blocks away from the motel they scoped out earlier and Dean is down to a mere nub of jerky.

He'd been otherwise content to sit there tapping his fingers against the wheel, and it sounds like an inconvenience when he has to pause and ask, "What?"

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, raising his eyebrows. Sure his brother is high strung sometimes, but this seems a little...

Dean's face is completely expressionless as his eyes flicker over the street lights in front of them and Sam sees a little hint of a smirk at the edges of his mouth as he answers, "Fine."

...excessive.

.

They're at a rest stop the next afternoon one and a half states south when Sam drops his cell into a pot hole and just about brains himself on someone's car door, which opens just as he's bending down.

"Oh my gosh!" Some girl says, as Sam flinches and the door stops about a quarter inch short of breaking his nose.

He puts on his best grin, wraps his fingers around his phone, and stands up.

"I'm sorry," She tells him again, and Sam feels a little flare of warmth in his chest at her concern. Mother issues. "That was so close."

Smiling wider, Sam's hair falls into his eyes and he waves his hand as he says, "Lucky, I guess."

"Yeah," She smiles up at him, keeping her mouth closed.

Sam thumbs the edge of his phone and shifts awkwardly.

"Really, don't worry about it," He finally says, scratching the back of his neck.

Her pretty little smile is the thing that starts him walking back to the car.

.

"Making friends?" Dean asks him, when Sam is two paces away from the car and starting to sweat from the dry summer heat.

He wrinkles his forehead up. "Huh?" He asks, arm swinging back down.

"If you want to bang some girl, go ahead man, I'm not gonna cock block you," Dean tells him, passive aggressiveness written all over his expression and in his voice.

A staccato of recognition flares up in Sam's belly as he raises his eyebrows and glances over his shoulder, at the girl sitting in the car with the door that almost hit him. She's clearly onto bigger and better things, namely her boyfriend, and even from here it looks like the two of them are in their own little red tinted universe.

"Dean, what the hell are you talking about," Sam levels at him, squinting at his brother, who is currently leaning against the side of the car.

Raising his eyebrows, Dean crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs, pushing away from the car.

"I'm not gonna be your ball and chain, man," Dean reasons, which is completely unreasonable.

The last person Sam was honestly completely attracted to other than Dean was the overnight desk clerk at some seedy pay by the hour motel, who had freckles over the bridge of his nose and shoulders that curved just right. Sam doesn't think that this counts; the last time he saw Dean making eyes at some girl, she had red hair and blue eyes and was quintessentially the complete anti Sam.

If anyone has reason to be the jilted lover here, Sam feels as though that should be his card to play.

"Dude, Dean. When did I _ever_ say anything like that?" Sam asks, following Dean around the back of the car, around to the driver's side. Dean pauses at his door and squints at Sam through the unfiltered car stop sunlight, eyelashes looking three shades north of legal. "What's been up with you the last couple days, anyways? And don't tell me nothing, cause I don't buy it."

Dean frowns at him and raises his eyebrows, shrugging as he pulls his door open.

"It's nothing," He lies.

.

Sam realizes that it's the second week of August already when Dean beelines from Minnesota straight to San Jose. And, really. Sam should have seen this coming -- they go through this shit every year.

Dean's issue is that he thinks Sam is going to leave him. Has already signed up for September classes and is gonna bum rush Dean in the middle of the night into realizing that, no, they don't get happily ever after and that Sam is, in fact, leaving for California. Because, in Dean Winchester's mind, California holds an education, a girl to marry, a marriage to get children from, and a life worth living by living with those kids.

It's going on four years now that Dean has been dead wrong.

.

They get into another argument the next morning when Sam thanks the girl who replaces their dirty towels with clean dry ones, and Dean overhears him telling her to have a great day, and good luck with the exams.

"I'm not leaving," Sam tells him, firmly, from where he's got Dean up against the wall by the collar of the shirt. Dean makes a noise and breathes hard, struggling against Sam's hands wrapped into the fabric bunched around his neck. "Dean. Listen. Are you listening?"

Dean nods shortly, eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling before he blinks and looks back at Sam, staring him right in the face.

"I am not going to leave you," Sam repeats. "I don't want it. I don't want her, and I don't want them. I don't want anything else."

Nodding again, Dean's eyes start tearing up so Sam loosens his grip, letting Dean slide back down the back of the door.

"I'm going out," Dean tells him, voice quiet and scratchy as he looks just about anywhere else as Sam smoothes down the front of his shirt.

Sam nods and listens to Dean's car keys jingle as he lets him go.

.

Sam realizes that Dean is still in the parking lot forty minutes later, when his headlights finally flick on and shine straight into their motel room.

Standing up, Sam mutes the television and walks over to the window, cracking the blinds open to look out into the deserted parking lot. It's so dark and black the pavement is glittering, and Dean is sitting there in the driver's seat, looking all kinds of stone faced and stubborn.

.

He tugs his jacket on as he walks across the lot, approaching Dean in plain view.

Dean still won't look up, even when Sam approaches the window and knocks. He does shut the headlights off, though, which Sam considers a minor victory.

"Dean," He says, rapping his knuckles against the door again. "What are you doing?"

Licking his lips, Dean shuts the ignition off and glances up at Sam, eyes wide and forehead wrinkled. Sam looks back down at him and widens his eyes, quietly asking, what the fuck man? Dean reaches down and opens the door, letting Sam take a step back before he swings the door wide open and climbs out.

"Hey, what," Sam starts to say, reaching one arm out to touch Dean, but Dean is about five miles ahead of him because then all of a sudden they're kissing and kissing hard, both of Dean's hands at either side of Sam's head.

Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat and brings one hand up to the back of Dean's head, fingers resting crookedly against his skull. Sam can feel the pulse throbbing in Dean's temples, the sincerity in the way he's flexing his fingers against the sides of Sam's face.

"What," Sam says again, pulling back a little, trying to read Dean's face.

Dean shakes his head and leans in again, hands trailing down to the fly of Sam's jeans. His fingers start working at the zipper as he mouths against Sam, tongue pressing against the dimple below Sam's bottom lip, sliding back up and into his mouth.

He doesn't really get what Dean's game plan is until he starts walking Sam backwards, bumping into the car door before changing navigation and heading up closer to the hood instead. Sam opens his mouth to say, what the fuck, Dean, our room is _right there_ and remember how we're trying to do that whole low profile thing? But then Dean's got his hand down the front of Sam's underwear and he's starting to jerk, quick and harder than he would if they were, oh, say, about to fuck anywhere else.

Sam's ass hits the front bumper of the car around the same time that Dean starts breathing hard and trying to get his own pants down with one hand.

"Ow," Sam whispers against Dean's mouth, as the front plate digs into the back of his legs, metal edging hard even through the thickness of his jeans.

Pushing himself up onto the hood of the car, Sam wiggles back until Dean is standing in-between his knees, pants loosened around his waist, thumbs kneading at the muscles on either side of Sam's hip. Sam runs a hand through his hair and wraps his arm around Dean's shoulders, dragging him forward and reaching down with his free hand to get Dean's cock out of his pants.

"Sammy," Dean finally says, huffing the word against Sam's shoulder as Sam pulls him through the opened V in the fly of his jeans.

Nodding, Sam reaches down to grab Dean's hand and spit into his palm. It's nastier than the alternative, but the alternative is also not a reasonable option right now.

"Seriously, I get it," Sam pants, leaning in to rest his mouth against Dean's again, breathing against his lips. He pushes Dean's hand down to jerk himself off. "But we gotta be quick, like. Really quick."

Dean nods and jerks himself off, pulling Sam forward by the insides of the knees to get the right angle. Sam's not one of those dudes who get off on the whole blood and gore aspect of some people's sex lives, but he can appreciate a good sore stretch every once in a while. He inches his hips forward and widens his stance, breathing hard in the summer air, already anticipating getting off.

"Hurry up," He stage-whispers, even though he's pretty sure there isn't anyone around. The office is just around the corner, though.

Nodding again, Dean steps forward so his knees are bumping up against the front of the car and tugs Sam forward until he's pretty sure he's gonna slide right off the hood and break his dick on the concrete ground.

Sam cringes at the initial feeling, and it's slow and it burns and it's really not the most comfortable feeling in the world, but it's a lot better than all the passive aggressive shit Dean has been flinging at him the last couple of days. He exhales hard into Dean's shoulder and tries to roll his hips a little, but Dean's got him around the waist and Sam isn't the aggressor in this current Winchester battle of epic relationship proportions.

"Dean," He finally hisses, breath all pressed out and voice with nowhere to go but Dean's shoulder.

Dean starts fucking him slowly, one hand on Sam's shoulder and the other braced against the hood of the car. Sam still feels like he's about to fall, but if he goes down at least he's going down swinging with Dean still in him.

And man, if that isn't a loaded statement.

.

Sam comes first, Dean comes in him, and then Sam comes again when Dean jerks him off relentlessly, stuck in another one of his mind trips that usually ends with Sam either getting a black eye or a stomach load of come.

There's dirt all over Sam's lower back as he tries to get his pants back up, and Dean even laughs at him a little, leaning over to brush the stuff out of Sam's skin with his palms, fingers dipping below the waist band of Sam's jeans. Which are also now covered with road dust.

As Dean is locking the driver side door and Sam is standing uncomfortably beside him, shifting from foot to foot with a pant load of come, the light flicks on in the room next to theirs. Sam glances over his shoulder at the light filtering out through the cheap motel room blinds, and bites his bottom lip, trying not to smile. Sex in public really isn't his scene, but he can appreciate a moment as magical as this.

Dean walks back around the side of the car and gives Sam a funny look as they start back towards the room.

"What?" Dean finally gets irritated enough to ask, as they're opening the motel door that Sam didn't even bother to lock.

Shaking his head, Sam says, "Nothing," and closes the door behind the two of them.

Dean starts shrugging out of his jacket right away, one hand going down to work at the zip of his pants.

"Dean," Sam says, watching his brother undress in the middle of what Sam could theoretically classify as one of the shittiest motel rooms he's ever had the pleasure of residing in this side of New York. Dean glances over at him when his pants are already halfway past his thighs. Sam frowns a little, watching his brother watch him. "Just..." He starts, and Dean knows exactly where this conversation is going the second it leaves Sam's mouth. He resumes removing his clothing. "I couldn't manage without you, man. So, you know. You don't ever have to worry."

Quiet has been Dean's weapon of choice these last few days, and he throws it on the table again as he stands there watching Sam.

And he's quiet. He's quiet until suddenly he's not, and he's scratching the back of his neck and actually looking Sam in the eye.

"You just," He says, jaw ticking. Sam knows he's nervous, and a nervous Dean is a sadly endearing Dean. "You just gotta remind me sometimes."

A slow smile spreading across his face, Sam moves his arm, starting to shrug his jacket off.

"How could I forget," He says, as Dean stares at him for just one second too long to be anything other than completely done for: hook, line, and sinker.


End file.
